Tuesday, December 8, 2015

It is a truth rarely acknowledged, but psychoanalysis relies
on belief. Not on knowledge, not on replacing
bad habits with good ones, not on insight, understanding or awareness, and certainly not on science. In truth, Freudian psychoanalysis is all about
belief. We know that Freud talked the
talk about scientific knowledge and empirical verification, but, when his
treatment was failing, he declared that it was because his patients did not
believe fervently enough in the truth of his interpretations.

Naturally, his grandiose theories had an interpretation for
that: his patients were suffering from unanalyzed castration anxiety.

Scientific inquiry is based on skepticism. Scientists always
doubt the results of their experiments. People who believe that science can be
settled and no longer subject to doubt are not doing science.

Psychoanalysts insist that your treatment is based on how
fully you believe in the truth of your psychoanalyst’s interpretation. If you
say you believe it and are not getting well, then, ipso facto, you do not believe strongly enough.

As Karl Popper and many others have argued over the years, psychoanalysis
does not accept that any fact would disprove its theses. Thus, it cannot be
science. It cannot be about transmitting knowledge. It must be in the realm of
belief.

As I suggested in my book The Last Psychoanalyst, in its truest form psychoanalysis is a
cult. Its theories are a narrative that pretends to explain everything you ever
wanted to know about human psychology. Whatever you think, whatever you feel,
whatever you dreams… psychoanalysis can explain it all. That is, it can fit you into Freudian theory. Better yet, it will explain everyone else’s mind,
too. What’s not to like?

No one, Maria Konnikova points out, joins a cult because
they want to join a cult. They join because they want to do good, to save the
world or to save their souls. Those who get hooked on psychoanalysis believe
that it can cure what ails them but they also believe that it can cure
civilization of its discontents. As Jacques Lacan said, psychoanalysis is a cause. Konnikova
does not mention Freudian psychoanalysis, but its history certainly supports her
argument.

I have already argued at length in my book that Freudian
theory was destined to produce a cult. In those places where psychoanalysis is
thriving today—France and Argentina—people have stopped pretending that it is a
medical treatment. They believe that it offers access to a new world where
everything makes sense, where doubt is banished, where they can fight the
culture war against Anglo-American hegemony and where they will be able to make
the world safe for adultery.

It’s a daunting task, but it’s better than to think that you
have been conned or, in the words of Jacques Lacan, scammed.

In the Lacanian movement you can only become a training
analyst by showing how much you believe in Freud. You do so by telling
your new, revised, Freudized life story to two of your colleagues. Then, said
colleagues represent you before a committee—call it by its proper name, an
inquisition—that will judge how fully you have given your life to Freud and how
deeply you believe in the Freudian truth. It’s less like defending your
doctoral thesis and more like having your neighbors testify for or against you before the inquisition.

As a friend who had undergone the process told me one day,
if you ever, in the course of your many interviews, suggest that you are not
totally convinced of the Freudian truth, if you have a smidgeon of doubt, you
will fail. It happened to him.

While undergoing treatment or even studying the theory you
might one day run across a fact that seems to disprove the theory. It might
elicit some doubts in the depths of your mind. Since there are no facts that
can disprove the theory, these factoids are really tests of your faith. Can you
continue to believe in the great Freudian myths, or any other narratives, when
facts contradict it? Or are you smart enough to argue persuasively that a fact that seems to disprove the theory really proves the theory? How much do you really understand the theory. If you really, really get it, you gain special merit for having transcended
the mundane and the profane.

Surely it is interesting to note, as Konnikova does, that an
art dealer who had been conned into selling forgeries did not notice, on a fake
Jackson Pollock that she had had hanging in her living room, that the artist
had misspelled his name: Pollok.

We blind ourselves to facts that would disprove our beliefs
because we want to believe in ourselves. Many people cling desperately to
psychoanalysis because they do not have the courage to accept that they have
been conned. It would be such a crushing blow to their confidence that they
find ways to double down on their belief. One way is to repress or ignore
anyone who challenges their belief.

Beliefs are not about facts. They are not about the play of
a game. They are, Konnikova notes, about narratives. When our facts and our
experiments do not provide us with ultimate solutions we shift into a narrative
that makes some sense of it all. It may present us with the wrong meaning but
often it is easier to accept the wrong meaning than to assume that there is no
meaning at all. Or better, to understand that rather than sit back and ponder big ideas, we do better to make a move in life's chess game.

Surely, we like happy endings, but psychoanalysis-- a
powerful narrative created by a genius-- does not promise a happy ending. If we
are to believe one of Freud’s various declarations it promises unhappiness.

To be fair, the Freudian promise of unhappiness is a ruse,
understandable only by the cognoscenti. Freud was saying that those who embrace
their unhappiness, who understand the tragic truth about human existence, are
morally superior to those sad sacks who are pursuing happiness. And the unhappy
Freudian few can feel morally superior for knowing that they have no free will
and that nothing they will do can change the course of their lives.

Those of us who fell for what the most eminent psychoanalyst
after Freud, one Jacques Lacan, called a scam believed that we had discovered a
higher truth, not one that would provide a path to happiness, but one that
would put us above such mundane pursuits.

Being recruited for a cult is one kind of con game. The
other kind is more individual. It involves being ripped off by another
individual. Konnikova describes three-card monte, a New York street game, where
people lose their money because they have too much confidence in their ability
to beat the dealer. Three-card monte is a self-confidence game. Konnikova notes
that those who play the game also believe in a narrative whereby they are so clever
that they will necessarily win the game.

As the old saying goes: “Pride goeth before destruction and
a haughty spirit before a fall.”

Konnikova also describes the first modern con game:

THE
confidence game existed long before the term itself was first used, most likely
in 1849, during the trial of William Thompson. The elegant Thompson, according
to The New York Herald, would approach passers-by, start up a conversation, and
then come forward with a unique request. “Have you confidence in me to trust me
with your watch until tomorrow?” Think how much is loaded into that simple
query: You are a respectable person, since I approached you, but are you also
someone who believes the best in people, or are you a cynical blight on
humanity? Faced with such a conundrum — a story about the kind of person you
are contained in a single question — many a stranger proceeded to part with his
timepiece. And so, the “confidence man” was born: the person who uses others’
trust in him for his own private purposes.

A con artist—note that we do not say con scientist—abuses your
trust.

This also shows us the genius of the Freudian con. Whereas
William Thompson conned people out of their watches because he preyed on their
ability to believe the best in people—to believe it based on no evidence, I
would add—Freud conned people out of far more money by preying on their willingness
to believe the worst about themselves. He was telling them that if they
believed the worst, it would be for the best.

In truth, the Freudian con is based on the notion that you
have been outsmarting yourself, but that now with your analyst’s help you will
no longer be doing it. Thus, you are your own worst enemy, but your analyst is
your best friend. Hand over all your money to him or her and you will discover
the dire truths you have been repressing.

Curiously, psychoanalysts who remain Freudian are not
selling knowledge; they are not exchanging insight for filthy lucre. They are
persuading you to believe in the Freudian truth because you always knew it—only
you didn’t know that you knew it.

Psychoanalysis will convince you that your only true enemy
is your own mind, that your mind is preventing you from seeing the truth and
that your analyst is allied with the truth against your mind.

Konnikova explains that belief is based on the seductive
power of stories. I am inclined to agree. I have said that psychoanalysis is
nothing more than overpriced storytelling, so her idea makes good sense.

Analysis will help people to construct narratives that seem
to explain everything and that grant moral superiority to its followers.

More importantly, psychoanalysis explains everything in
terms of desire, and desire, whatever else you think of it, is not about the facts
or about reality. You cannot desire something that you already have. You can
only desire something that you do not have, that is wanting. If you are
climbing Mount Kilimanjaro you cannot say that you wish you were climbing Mount
Kilimanjaro.

This being the case, you cannot demonstrate the truth or the
falsehood of desire by referring to fact. If you make desire your truth you are
forced to live in a narrative fiction that you inhabit or not depending on the
strength of your belief.

2 comments:

It would seem to me that the opposite can be true. Given we all are quite able to deceive ourselves, then the purpose of psychology ought to be help us see how our perceptions are distorted by our beliefs and desires, and how to step back from those and see reality with less distortion.

As well, if the human mind is a narrative-creator, then the answer to avoiding the power of a narrative is to contrast it to other narratives, which is the exact opposite of what a con man wants you to do.

And as a psychologist (or parent even), there does seem to be a dilemma. How do you help a client step out of their narrative without imposing a different narrative? And we also know the mind is reactive, and someone who strongly believes one thing, once they escape by some great event, they're just as likely to move to the complete opposite thing. So the true believer in God becomes the true atheist who believes God can't exist, and believes this with just as much passion.

It might be for all I know, that everything Freud said was his own over-arching system of narratives that had to be self-consistent and complete, and he never doubted a single idea that ever came into his head, or tried to see how any of them could be proven or disprove. It does make sense that Freud might not want to tell his patient his archetypal narratives, since they may not help a patient escape them, and if he's wrong, it would just confuse the patients as well.

I tend to assume Jung was more open about interpretations, and less rigid about requiring any singular framework to explain anything. And I'm equally unsure how much Jung or his followers tried to express their symbolic archetypal understandings to a patient, versus using them as probes of inquiry, to try to find the chink in the mind's defenses that prevent questioning reality.

We can also wonder how we might help protect our family and friends from conmen, and see if we can identity traits that are problematic. I mean the best conmen perhaps are slightly disassociated themselves, and actually believe everything they're saying as they're saying it. At least that would be especially true in terms of pyramid schemes where there's lots of money following, and a business might slide from legitimate to illegimate by borrowing money to cover holes, and then shift to rising stock values to cover them.

It is scary to try to ever know how to protect yourself much less others, and merely having a skeptics minds can as easily just leave you fearful of everything and everyone.

But I guess this blog is supposed to be associating psychoanalysts as conmen, apparently the self-deceived kind, who believe in their own cures, and are too stupid to see their own corruption. Or maybe some know they are conmen, and don't care? Maybe that's the cynics in the end, who lose faith in their own power to help people, but as long as it pays the bills, they have their own family to raise, and figure as long as people seem to feel better, and insurance companies are paying the bills, its good enough.

I can see it would be frustrating to leave the practice after decades, and then judge all talk therapy as equally helpless, and propagated wrongfully by ignorance and keep hoping you can stop it someday.

p.s. I came upon a long interview of Toronto Psychologist Jordan Peterson today, worth a listen.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=07Ys4tQPRis Religion, Myth, Science, Truth | an evening of Darwinian thought with Dr. Jordan B. Peterson

I thought his characterizations of different truths was interesting, what he called Darwinian truth and Newtonian truth, the first basically about "what works" in an evolutionary sense, and the second what works within dead mechanical systems of simple cause and effect.

His example was like dominance hierarchies which are hundreds of millions of years, old, so they are "true" as emergent characterization of survival of living systems, and can't be deduced from mere physical laws, but rather exist as a large set of organism working together within soft "rules" of that system.

So I can see a little how the new agers get into the mental mush of "We create our own reality", that is to say - those who are at the top of a status hierarchy really can "make reality what they want" at least if they understand the rules of that system at an instinctual or intellectual level in order to take advantage of it.

And so if to degrees "reality is mutable" based on our ability to convince others of our personal special place within reality, we really can manifest that reality, almost like magic, at least as long as we can deliver what we promise to those that matter.

And when those on the bottom of a given status hierarchy object, and try to change the system, to some degree they're fighting against a system, but actually since none of us really controls the status hierarchy, there's apparently room for all types, so the "con artists" for good or ill are just performing a role within the system.

Some skeptics might even call Christianity as "the big con", at least as big as Islam's promise of virgins in the afterlife, but in the Christian case, we learn the meek shall inherit the earth, but somehow the difficulties on how a rich person can pass into heaven is too inconvenient for rich people to worry about, and Christian martyrdom, that's not for people of high status. That's for the poor people who we need to not question their place in the status hierarchy.

But as long as we can keep extracting more and more material abundance this year as last year, and greater sources of energy, its a credible vision, and for now we can almost believe there will be enough for all, if we just let the winner-take-all system go another generation, and we'll all be trickled down upon as God promised.

Beliefs and narratives sure go together, as long as we have what we want, or believe working harder will get us to the promised land.